Assisted by willing hands, Frank made his way to a bench in the public square. Close at hand was a town pump, where men and boys were filling the leather buckets. Down the square was the hand engine, drawing water from a nearby cistern. As weak as he was our hero had brought his books and papers with him, and these he now placed at his side.
“Oh, Frank, are you hurt?” It was Ruth who asked the question, as she came up with little Georgie.
“No, I’m all right,” Frank answered. “But I guess I’m pretty well smoked,” he added, coughing and wiping his eyes.
“You should not have gone in such a place.”
“I wanted to save father’s books and papers. The desk will be burnt, I know, and the old safe isn’t of any account.”
“Do you think they’ll put the fire out?”
“It doesn’t look like it now.”
“It must have been set on fire by the fireworks,” went on Ruth.
“More than likely.”
The firemen were working with a will, and before long Frank started in to aid them, telling Ruth and Georgie to take the books and papers home.